


only find static on the radio

by inlovewithnight



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't always—they didn’t know how to talk, sometimes. About things that got under their skin, things that weren’t just regular day-to-day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only find static on the radio

Jordie was lying in the yard with Jamie and Tyler, getting sunburned in the Texas springtime and watching the dogs chase each other in endless circuits along the fence. “They’re probably gonna fall in the pool,” Jordie said, turning onto his stomach and hiding his face against his arms. “I’m not dealing with the mess.”

“Yeah, you are. You know you are.” Tyler nudged him with his foot and laughed. “You’ll wade in there and carry them out like they’re babies.”

“You’re the one who calls yours your children. Not me. Juice is a dog and I know it.”

“He’s your dog and your baby. Don’t lie, dude, I’ve heard you call him that.” Tyler sat up and propped himself on his elbows. “Jamie. Hey. Back me up. You’ve heard him, too.”

Jamie was in one of the lounge chairs, his baseball cap over his face. “Juice is his baby.”

“Ha.” Tyler stuck his tongue out at Jordie and flopped on the ground again. “You shouldn’t lie, dude. Your brother loves me more than you.”

Jordie shook his head and lay still, letting the sun pound his back and shoulders. He could imagine the twist of Jamie’s mouth, hidden under the hat brim.

Tyler got up a few minutes later and went into the house, returning with water bottles for all of them. Jordie dragged himself into a sitting position and Jamie dropped his hat into the grass, squinting against the light.

“Mom called me the other day,” Jamie said, the words sudden and out of place in the built-up silence. “She found a bunch of old stuff cleaning out those boxes in storage.”

Jordie took a drink and waited for the punchline. When it didn’t come, he prompted, “Anything good?”

“T-shirts.” Jamie grinned, ducking his head like he always did when he decided something was really funny. It made his hair fall down over his forehead, long enough now that it almost covered up his eyes, all bright and dancing with laughter. “From when we were on the Grizzlies together? But before it was the Grizzlies, when it was still the Salsa.”

“Jesus.” Jordie grinned back at him and set his water bottle down in the grass. “The Victoria Salsa.”

“She sent me a picture of the shirts, they are fuckin’ awful.”

Tyler’s eyes were darting back and forth between them like he was watching a passing drill. “The Salsa? For real? Like… like the dance, or the mashed-up tomatoes and stuff?”

“Good question.” Jordie pushed sweat-heavy hair back off his own forehead and shrugged. “It was never really clear and I’m pretty sure that’s why they changed it to the Grizzlies finally. Years and years of asking that same question.”

“It was the food,” Jamie said. “It had to be the food, because the logo was a chili pepper.”

“No it wasn’t. It was that bulked-up red scary guy with a hockey stick.”

“He was a pepper. A humanized chili pepper. Because the old logo was _just_ a pepper, and they updated it to be, like, sexier or whatever—”

“You had sex with chili peppers?” Tyler interrupted. “That’s gotta be bad for your dick, Jamie.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “I was sixteen. I wasn’t at the having sex with vegetables stage yet.”

“That stage comes _first_ ,” Tyler said, with that tone coming into the voice like he was definitely the authority on this, and Jordie kind of tuned it all out, drinking his water and watching the dogs nose around at the far end of the yard. They were calmer now, having run the edges off their energy. Juice was still going to need a bath, though, probably, so Jordie hoped Jamie had remembered to run a load of towels through the washer at some point in recent history—

“Dude,” Tyler said, his voice hitting Jordie’s ears at the same time his hands latched onto Jordie’s shoulders and shook him back into the moment. “You gotta be the tiebreaker on this.”

Jamie’s mouth was twisted again, with amusement and knowing this time, his eyes still bright. Jordie looked at him, then over his shoulder at Tyler, then back to Jamie again. He had no idea what the fuck they were split on, but there was really only one answer.

“I’ll take Chubbsy’s side,” he said, and Jamie crowed triumphantly, scooping up his hat and tossing it into the air.

“Yes! I knew it. See, Segsy? He loves _me_ more, you can’t even fight it.”

Jordie stood up slowly, wincing at the twinge in his knee as he straightened it out. He started walking toward the dogs, whistling to get their attention. It was probably time to get out of the sun.

**

Jamie had nightmares when he was a kid. They were bad enough that their parents took him to the doctor once, but the doctor said they were part of growing pains and Jamie would get over them in time.

And that was true. Eventually he did. But there was a long stretch where he was growing and his brain was yelling about it, or however they were connected—Jordie didn’t really understand that part but okay, he wasn’t a doctor—and Jordie would listen to him moan and cry through the wall between their bedrooms.

It stuck with him. For years. It wasn’t the kind of thing he could just forget.

He didn’t know if Jamie had forgotten it or not. That was the kind of thing they didn’t talk about.

**

Tyler and his dogs went home when the sun started to dip behind the house. Late afternoon, but not yet evening; there were still hours left to wander through before bed.

Jordie gave Juice that bath, not because he actually needed it so much as for a distraction. Juice was pretty good about baths but Jordie was still soaked from neck to knees by the time they were done. Jamie hadn’t washed any towels after all, so Jordie used the one he had been using after his own showers for a few days to rough-dry the dog and then just turned him loose to leave wet spots on Jamie’s carpet and furniture.

Then he gathered up the towels to do that load of laundry himself, because he couldn’t just leave it undone or he wouldn’t have one to shower with in the morning.

Jamie came into the laundry room just as he closed the washing machine and twisted the dial. “What’re you doing?”

“Towels.” Jordie didn’t take his eyes off the machine. “You said you were going to do them but you didn’t.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Jordie stepped back, almost catching his knee on the utility sink next to the washer. Wouldn’t that be great, if he had to miss a practice because he hurt himself cleaning up after Jamie.

“Dude,” Jamie said, catching at Jordie’s arm as he moved past him to the door. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You always are.” It came out tired, rather than harsh, and Jordie regretted it immediately. “What did you need, anyway?”

Jamie’s hand dropped back to his side, and he was frowning. Jordie was going to feel bad about this, real soon. “Just wondering what you want for dinner.”

“Whatever’s in the freezer. I don’t care.”

Jamie frowned more. “What’s bugging you?”

“Nothing.” Lie. “The towels.” Half a lie. “I think I was in the sun too long, maybe.”

Jamie nodded a little, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, a giveaway nervous tic he’d had since they were kids. “I’ll figure out dinner and put it in to warm up. Go lie down or something, eh?”

“Yeah.” Tactical retreats until he could remember how to behave himself were important items in the Jordie Benn toolkit. “Come get me when it’s ready.”

Jamie nodded and touched Jordie’s shoulder, not a locker-room punch but not quite gentle, either. Jordie knew Jamie’s tells; Jamie was off-balance or nervous and giving up on words in favor of talking with his hands. Jordie could do the same thing and let him know everything was okay. He had his own set of signals that Jamie knew how to read, too.

He didn’t use them, just kept going out of the laundry room and down the hall toward the stairs. Not his best big-brother behavior, but he couldn’t be at his best all the time. Nobody could.

**

The year they were on the Panthers together, they went to a tournament on the mainland. It was Jordie’s second year on the team, and he was enjoying his seniority more than he probably should. He didn’t lord it over Jamie exactly--hard to do that when Jamie kept showing the little flashes of brilliance that were someday going to add up--but he didn’t skip chances to remind his brother that he’d done all this before.

Of course Jamie found a way to do something Jordie hadn’t done. That was just who he was. Jordie ground his way along and worked things out, and Jamie made his way in his own time and sometimes just… flashed and glowed, out of nowhere.

Jordie didn’t think of it that way at the time, of course. He didn’t have any kind of broader concept to put it in; it was just Jamie being Jamie.

There was a party at the end of the tournament; an official part of the event, supervised and chaperoned, so it wasn’t a _party_ party, but still, there was pizza and soda and music playing, and it was something to do. Jordie slouched around the back of the big common room they’d all been herded into for it, shooting the shit with his teammates and singing awkwardly along to Fall Out Boy. 

A couple of hours in he realized he hadn’t seen Jamie for a while. It wasn’t like he could get in any trouble at a supervised party, not really, but it still sent a little pang of unease through Jordie; their parents had told him to keep an eye on the kid, it was his responsibility, and besides, Jamie was his _brother_. He didn’t want anything to happen to him.

There was a courtyard on one side of the common room, long and narrow with stands of trees and bushes scattered around, hosting plaques that honored people who gave money to the sports center. Guys had been slipping in and out of the party all night, wandering around until every so often the chaperones moved through and swept them all back inside again.

Jordie went outside and took a deep breath of wet spring air. He thought about just yelling Jamie’s name, but he didn’t want to, for no reason he could really put into words. It was quiet out in the courtyard, a relief after the music and voices inside. Maybe he just didn’t want to spoil that.

He walked a slow circuit around the courtyard, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and probably he would’ve missed it altogether except for those years of being able to hear Jamie through the wall. Jordie knew his voice muffled as well as he did out loud.

He turned and looked, following the half-stifled words, and there was Jamie, pressed up against some guy from the River Storm behind one of the stands of bushes. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out what they were doing, but Jordie still stood there for a minute, just staring, because… that was his brother, in the bushes, with a guy, their hands up under each other’s t-shirts and their mouths open, panting and staring stupidly at each other before they started kissing. Kissing _again_ , because from how flushed their faces and how red their mouths were, they had been at this for a little while.

And Jordie stood and watched, like an idiot, because he couldn’t think enough to know what to do.

The door to the common room banged open, music and voices pouring out into the courtyard, and Jordie stumbled back at the same time Jamie and the other guy jerked away from each other. Jordie turned and hurried back inside, rubbing suddenly sweaty palms on his khakis and struggling to get his breathing under control. He knew his face was bright red, his pale skin giving away everything. Nothing he could do about that except grab a soda from the ice chest and press it against his forehead.

He went back to his room-- _their_ room, of course the team had the brothers bunk together, always--as soon as he could, not bothering to brush his teeth or anything, just stripping to his boxers and climbing into bed. Jamie wandered in half an hour later, smiling to himself, like he knew a secret.

Jordie lay still while Jamie puttered around the bathroom, undressed, and climbed into bed. He didn’t say anything until Jamie turned out the light.

“Hey,” he said then, finally.

“Hey.” Jamie’s voice was a little breathless. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Sorry.” Jordie’s hands clenched and unclenched under the blanket. “Hey, so, when we get back, I was thinking maybe… maybe I could help you meet some girls, or something.”

“Oh?” Jordie could always read the undercurrents in Jamie’s voice, and now wasn’t any exception. Excitement and confusion and trying to hide this new strange thing in his life. That was a twist in Jordie’s chest, that Jamie would be hiding things from him now.

“Yeah. You’re old enough, I guess.” Definitely old enough, had probably been old enough for a while, and Jordie had just ignored it. Jordie was coming in late, trying to catch up to Jamie in a weird way, while Jamie was looking down a path he could take without his brother at all. 

Something in Jordie’s chest shied away from thinking about it too hard, and he took a breath and asked, “You want me to?”

“Sure.” Jamie shifted around in his bed, bedding rustling in the dark. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Jor.”

**

Jordie slept for an hour before Jamie got him for dinner. Salmon, asparagus, and rice, and Jamie had made them both smoothies to go with it. Jordie didn't realize how hungry he was until he saw all that waiting for him on the table.

They ate in silence, packing away the food at a steady rate. Jamie finished first, draining the last of his smoothie and setting the glass aside with a thump.

“You got burned,” he said, gesturing a little. “Your face and your neck.”

“Shoulders, too.” Jordie shrugged. “I felt it when I went to lie down. It'll heal.”

“Do we have any aloe stuff left from last year?”

“I don't know, I didn't look.”

Jamie looked down at his plate and Jordie bit his tongue, hating how stilted and weird the air between them was but with no way to fix it. They didn't always—they didn’t know how to talk, sometimes. About things that got under their skin, things that weren’t just regular day-to-day. Anything that dug down into where emotions twisted up and got weird. There weren’t any words for those things.

The two of them said everything by looks and touches and movements in silence, their series of tells, and the problem with that was that neither of them could _ask_ anything, they just had to wait to see.

Sometimes that was just too much fucking work.

“Mom's going to send us those shirts she found,” Jamie said after a moment. “The Salsa ones.”

“They definitely won't fit us anymore.”

“Yeah, I told her that. I think she might cut them up and make them into pillows, or frame them? Something like that. Mom stuff.”

Jordie smiled at that, despite the weird mood still hovering around him like a cloud bank. “Gotta love mom stuff.”

“We'll put ‘em in the vanity room with everything else.” Jamie rested his chin in one hand, tracing the grain of the table with the other, and something about the pose or the angle made him seem really young for a moment. Jordie looked at him and really saw his little brother, not the NHL star, not his captain, just Jamie.

His breath caught in his throat and for a minute he thought he might groan or sigh or somehow else give himself away, and he fought it, fought himself, struggled to stay still and silent.

But Jamie glanced up and caught his gaze and that was it, game over, all lost anyway.

**

The first time was when they were on the Salsa together, Jordie's first year and Jamie's second. That had been--weird, rough, having Jamie be the one with experience under his belt, the one who knew what he was doing. Jordie tried his best not to be resentful, but sometimes it got away from him. He wasn't perfect.

They were at another late-season tournament on the mainland, sharing another hotel room. The league didn't bother planning the parties for them anymore, letting them find their own entertainment, and the two of them had spent a few hours drinking beer in a parking lot with their teammates just like they did at home.

There were local girls there, and a few Victoria girls who made the trip to watch their boyfriends or the guys they hoped would turn into boyfriends. Jordie left the party when people started pairing up and getting naked.

Not that he didn't have a shot at hooking up himself; he had had a couple of moments with one of the local girls, she was interested, but something just…

He couldn't execute. Or he didn't want to. Something.

He walked back to the hotel, stopping at a liquor store for a bottle of whiskey on the way. Getting drunk alone in the room was kind of pathetic, but he didn't want to watch his teammates get laid.

He didn't want to watch Jamie get laid, whispered some sneaky part of his brain, but he pushed that back and ignored it in favor of pouring himself a water glass of whiskey and turning on the TV.

He was two glasses and two episodes of Seinfeld in when Jamie came back.

Jamie gave him an odd look and shrugged out of his jacket. “What’re you doing back here?”

“What are you doing back here?” Jordie stuck his tongue out--juvenile, stupid, kind of exactly how he felt at the moment. It was really cheap whiskey, burning away his taste buds and his good sense.

“I was looking for you. Nobody knew where you went. That girl you were talking to, with the curly hair, she said you were acting kind of weird and thought maybe you were sick.”

Jordie shook his head and looked at the TV again. “I'm fine. Just tired.”

“Drinking alone instead of getting laid.”

Jordie shrugged, the whiskey starting to curl into irritability in his stomach. “There’s more to life than getting laid, I guess.”

“Sure.” Jamie was quiet for a minute, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Share?”

Jordie wanted to tell him to fuck off, almost did, then looked at Jamie's big stupid dark eyes and folded, like always. “Get the other glass, you’re not getting germs all over the bottle.”

“Alcohol disinfects,” Jamie said, in his know-it-all voice, but he got up and got the other glass and grabbed a bag of Doritos from his bag besides.

He was a decent brother. Jordie should probably keep him around.

They drank and watched TV, Jordie sprawled out on the bed and Jamie sitting up next to him, back against the headboard and legs folded up. They went through the bottle pretty fast, the room going warm and fuzzy and then a little spinny, enough that Jordie had to close his eyes.

“You sure you're okay?” Jamie asked, his voice soft and thick, scratchy with booze. “You're kinda… kinda sad, it seems like.”

“I don’t know if I fuckin’ belong here.” Jordie took another convulsive gulp. It was going down almost as smooth as water now. He was going to be a mess in the morning.

“That’s bullshit. Of course you do.”

Jordie shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV. “You’re the talented one here, Jay. Not me.”

Jamie picked up the remote and turned the TV off. “Shut up.”

“Dude.” Jordie downed the rest of his whiskey and tossed the empty cup to the floor. “Turn that back on.”

“No, you’re talking bullshit and I’m gonna make you listen to me.”

“You can’t _make_ me do anything, fucker, just fuck off and let me watch the fucking TV.”

“No.” Jordie dimly heard Jamie’s glass click as he put it down on the table, and then Jamie was on him, heavy and solid and pinning Jordie down to the bed, his hands catching at Jordie’s and holding them at his sides. “You’re gonna listen to me. You’re my brother, and I love you, and I’m not just gonna let you… let you…”

Jamie was so close, they were staring into each other’s eyes, and Jordie’s stomach was tight and twisting in a way he had felt before but had always, always pushed away and ignored.

“You’re everything,” Jamie said, his voice hoarse and raw and too much, revealing too much. “You’re the only reason I’m anything.”

Jordie opened his mouth to tell Jamie to shut up, and that he was wrong, and that thinking like that was only going to hold him back and slow him down, but before he could say anything at all Jamie’s mouth was pressed to his in a hungry, desperate kiss. Jordie’s hands went to his hips, either to steady him or push him away, and there really was a moment where he wasn’t sure which, until--

Jamie pressed down against him, body warm and dick hard in his jeans, meeting Jordie’s body and sparking the response that Jordie had been pushing away so hard, the one he wouldn’t even look at from the back of his mind, the _wanting_ that he had done his best to starve and crush and cut out of himself.

Jamie’s mouth tasted like the whiskey, and Jordie knew his did, too. That was their easy out, the thing they could blame for this in the morning. For now, neither of them was blaming anything, their hands moving over each other’s bodies, their hips rolling together, Jamie whispering in Jordie’s ear over and over and over how much he loved him, no matter what, forever.

**

Jamie took him upstairs after dinner. It was like the first time, where Jordie could have stopped everything with a word, a touch, a move to get away. Just like then, and every other time since, he didn’t. He stayed in the space built for him in Jamie’s arms, held fast, safe from the fear of fucking up and hurting his brother. All he _could_ do here was be there for Jamie, give him back what he wanted. 

Everything narrowed down to loving Jamie, and being loved in return. Nothing else. It was the easiest that Jordie’s life ever was.

There weren’t any words for it, not ever, just Jamie’s arms caging him and Jamie’s mouth on his skin, coaxing and warming him up until he responded in kind, pulling Jamie close and claiming his jaw and throat and shoulders with biting kisses. 

“Don’t worry so much,” Jamie muttered, resting his forehead against Jordie’s and going still for a moment. It let Jordie appreciate the heat and weight of his body, the solidity of it. This was maybe what Jordie needed the most out of when they did this; the reminder that they were both real and physical and alive.

“Look at me,” Jamie said, half coaxing and half an order. “Jordie. Look at me.” 

Jordie opened his eyes, looking up into Jamie’s, so close and intent. There was sweat running down from Jamie’s temples, threatening to drip from his skin to Jordie’s. 

“It’s okay,” Jamie said softly. “I’m here. I’ve got you. It… I’m not going anywhere.” 

Part of Jordie wanted to scream at him, shove him off, tell him that wasn’t fucking true, this couldn’t last forever. It never could. Jamie was always, always going to go off down some other path, and Jordie wasn’t always going to be able to catch up. Someday it had to all fall apart.

But the rest of him wanted everything he could get, even if it was just for a moment, and it won, like it always did.

He was so fucking weak, on the inside. He could lift weights, he could skate miles, but he couldn’t walk away from this, no matter what.

Jamie kissed him again, hot and sweet and slow, then made his way down Jordie’s body, pulling his boxers down as he moved. Jordie blinked up at the ceiling, swallowing hard and letting reflexive shivers run through his body. 

Jamie was bold at this, brave; he always had been. He touched Jordie with sure, steady hands, no hesitation, and took him in his mouth easily. No teasing, no drawing things out, just heat and wet and the promise of more, and all Jordie had to do was relax and let go.

He wasn’t good at relaxing. Only for Jamie. 

He rocked up into Jamie’s mouth, throwing his forearm over his own face to muffle the sounds that tried to escape. They were alone, the front door was locked, he could be loud if he wanted to, but years of caution weren’t easily broken. This had to stay quiet, stay between them. Stay safe.

Jamie took him deeper, all the way to the base, his eyes closed in concentration, and Jordie couldn’t help it, he reached out with his free hand and stroked Jamie’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead. His fingers clutched at the strands as his stomach tightened, and Jamie groaned helpless approval, sending vibrations around Jordie’s dick that took him to the edge and over.

**

When Jamie went to Texas and Jordie stayed behind, Jordie assumed that was the end of it. It was a thing that could only live in the weird hothouse of playing together: long hours sleeping on each other’s shoulders on yet another bus ride, road games and hotel nights, helping each other out with a muscle cramp or a blister or taping up jammed fingers enough to play.

All of that was gone, so the other thing must be gone, too.

When he got to Texas, though, visa in hand signing him over to the Allen Americans, Jamie wrangled things so he could pick him up at the airport and take him to his hotel. And once they were there, he got on his knees and proved that things could be strange and sweet and so fucking good anywhere.

Jordie could never quite make himself believe that it would last another day. Every time must be the last.

Jamie disagreed. And being Jamie, he got his way, always, and kept proving Jordie wrong.

**

Jamie crawled up his body and kissed him again, pushing his tongue into Jordie’s mouth and feeding him the taste of his own come. “Love you,” Jamie said, “goddamn idiot.”

Jordie kissed him again instead of turning it into an argument. They were good at arguing, they always had been, but not now. Not tonight. Tonight he was weak and off-balance and fighting back the conviction that everything was going to go to hell, real quick, falling apart around them. 

He didn’t have any evidence for that, of course. Just fear. Just the one thing that he couldn’t even look at directly, only sideways and in silence, the shaking conviction of being left behind.

“Suck my dick?” Jamie asked, his voice low and rough, sounding like secrets in the dark and eyes meeting across the locker room and things they never, ever said out loud. “Or you want something else? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Jordie wasn’t doing this right, wasn’t playing the game right, and he could tell Jamie’s frustration was rising. He could feel it like heat rising up under Jamie’s skin, pressed against his own, or extra heaviness gathering in Jamie’s body--his muscles, his aura--and holding Jordie’s down.

“You’ve gotta tell me,” Jamie said. “Come on.”

Jordie nodded unsteadily. “Yeah. Come up here, just… just fuck my mouth, whatever you…”

Jamie kissed him again first, because _Jamie_ , Jamie Jamie, so sweet down underneath everything the world had put on him, where Jordie had met him first.

**

When Jordie got called up from Cedar Park, Jamie pulled him away before the game and went down on him in a storage closet. 

After the game, they went back to Jamie’s apartment and kissed on the couch for what felt like forever, until finally Jamie guided Jordie up, steered him to brace himself over the armchair, and fucked him until he couldn’t think or breathe or beg anymore.

When Tyler came to Dallas. When Jamie got the C. When he got the Olympic call. When he won the Art Ross.

They were fleeting moments and at the same time they were things that lingered, that could never be erased. They were the flexion points, the places where everything changed.

Jordie remembered them for what they were and also the way he and Jamie marked them, together, like they were making them part of each other’s bodies so that neither of them could ever forget that they had this.

**

They lay in the dark after, Jamie hiding his face against Jordie’s shoulder, Jordie’s breathing unsteady and raspy as he tried to clear his throat.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked finally, his voice half-muffled by skin.

Jordie took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “I…”

“Just tell me. You’re freaking me out.”

Jordie cleared his throat again, trying to find the right words to sum up the slow-spinning fear in his head. Nothing wanted to come together at first, and he hesitated too long.

“Do you not want this anymore?” Jamie asked, his voice almost too low to hear, but Jordie could feel it, breath ghosting over his skin and the vibration of Jamie’s throat. “This… us. Are you trying to…”

“No. No, it’s not… no.” Jordie fumbled for Jamie’s hand and squeezed it tight. “This is us. Nothing changes that.”

“Then what’s wrong? Fucking… please, dude. Please.”

“Contract.” He thought he might feel relieved to finally get the word out, that maybe it would free his voice like getting the cork out of the bottle. But no. It just took up space in the air.

He could feel Jamie blink, too, his lashes brushing over delicate skin at his inner arm. “Oh. Did they say something to you? Your agent? Or…”

“Nobody’s said anything. But I can’t help thinking about it, you know?”

Jamie lifted his head and looked at him, and Jordie desperately wanted to look away. But he couldn’t. 

“Even if you go,” Jamie said steadily, “even if the contract doesn’t… and it _will_ , I think it will, but even if it doesn’t. We’ll still be us.”

Jordie tried to smile. “Brothers forever, eh?”

Jamie didn’t smile back. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to hold you back.” It was easier to say it that way than _I don’t want to be left behind_. He wondered if Jamie could hear the difference. If Jamie had ever even thought about it that way.

“You never could.” Jamie’s eyes widened a little as he realized what he’d said. “I mean, you never have.”

Jordie let it go, like he always let anything go for Jamie. He dragged his thumb over Jamie’s eyebrow instead, until Jamie pulled his face away.

“I’ll fight for you,” Jamie said, and Jordie bit down to keep from telling him that that was worse, that that had always been _Jordie’s_ job.

“Thanks, bud,” he said instead. “I know you’ve got my back.”

Jamie grabbed Jordie’s hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tightly enough that it hurt. “Forever.”

Jordie closed his eyes and felt the heat and the weight, his brother’s palm to his, and for the moment it was enough.


End file.
